


Leyenda

by Ulfrsmal



Series: March Musical Madness Masterpieces [29]
Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Blood, Drabble, Fantasy, First Meeting, M/M, March Musical Madness (The Last Kingdom), Wounds, but read at your own discretion and all that jazz please, fairytale, it can be interpreted as a character dying and then being reborn, so no major character death per se
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:15:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29942289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ulfrsmal/pseuds/Ulfrsmal
Summary: Finan thought he'd take his final stand here, in this battlefield; but now, two creatures whom his soul has always known come to grant him a new beginning.
Relationships: Finan/Sihtric/Uhtred of Bebbanburg
Series: March Musical Madness Masterpieces [29]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2185899
Comments: 10
Kudos: 8





	Leyenda

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a classical piece composed by Isaac Albéniz. I prefer [this version](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jVjlZ_irlcM) and listened to it as I wrote. “Leyenda” means “Legend” in Spanish.
> 
> Also I really like how this one turned out and I may be able to be persuaded into expanding upon it at some point. Thoughts?

This is not how Finan imagined things to end; for everything he’s ever been taught to believe in, these visions unfolding in front of him now do not resemble any of that. They do, however, remind him quite acutely of what Norsemen have told him about their Heathen vision of the afterlife. Perhaps that is what's going on now, he muses in silence. Or maybe not. Who knows… blood-loss is dangerous, and he knows he’s lost much red already. Maybe too much. Who knows…

His mind swirls when the Warrior comes closer to him, his adorned armour dented from battles past yet shining under the shimmering moonlight illuminating the clearing in the woods where Finan thought he had taken his final stand. His sharp sword is still clutched in his right hand. The stubborn mark of a true warrior, Norsemen say. Finan has always prided himself in being one. He would grasp its handle tighter, but he has no strength left. He can only lay and bleed and wait for death to come.

The Warrior moves closer to him, kneeling silently by his side. For all the armour covering his shapely figure, he wears no helmet. Strange. The Warrior moves closer still, moving in Finan's field of vision. From his dark head of hair, to the brilliant chest-plate. It should shine more, but the moon is pale. A little exhale from the Warrior catches his attention. It sounds soft, shallow, airy. It makes Finan wish he could have more. He cannot move his head to look at the Warrior's face. And yet, he still tries.

The Warrior reads his mind, listens to his pain, moves when Finan cannot. His eyes focus on the Warrior's face. It is a good face. The Warrior is a handsome person, tastefully bearded. His eyes shine extremely blue, almost unnaturally so. Then he blinks, and the blue disappears for a split second. Finan hears a moan filled with regret at that. It startles him to know if came from his own throat. The Warrior's eyes glow even bluer when they reopen. That smile scorches whatever blood is left in Finan's body.

His breath would hitch in his throat, were he in any position to even _think_ about breathing. But he can only watch. Wordless. Entranced. Breathless. Long, dark locks slide around the Warrior’s broad shoulder. The longest strands fall almost to his waist, caressing Finan. Although much of it is braided with the intricate braids favoured by the Norse. It all makes Finan stare more.

There’s a new, sweeter, bigger, smile in the Warrior’s face when a shadow looms closer. Over Finan’s body. Obscuring what little moonlight the Warrior hadn’t yet blocked. The newcomer looks like a Rogue, lithe and lethal, dressed in all-black armour. It complements the dark curls on their half-shaved head. An interesting hairstyle, one that Finan has never seen on anybody else. It marks the Rogue as unique. It makes him stand out even more clearly from the shadows remaining in Finan’s memory of everybody else he has met.

The Rogue moves around him, black cape brushing over Finan’s bleeding side and soaking his blood up. Finan reels, because it's not fair if the Rogue gets tainted. Then they throw that red-tinted cape over one slender shoulder. Their whole figure is black. A shadow against the dark. Even the Rogue’s hands are gloved in black. An attractive sight. A mysterious creature. Finan wants more. He _needs_ more. When the Rogue hovers over his field of vision, Finan can see that they are wearing a mask. It obscures the lower part of their face, but not their eyes.

And what beautiful eyes this Rogue has… one shines as dark brown as the ones that stare at Finan from his own reflection. The other, however, glimmers with the same intense blue of the Warrior’s own eyes. Phantasmagorical. Almost as if this hidden Rogue had been built to resemble parts of both the Warrior and Finan. Enticing. Tempting. An enigma Finan would love to be granted the time to fully unravel.

The Warrior reaches over in a flash of light and teeth. He pulls the Rogue’s mask down. The Rogue gasps a deep breath, startling Finan’s heart into beating anew. He doesn’t know how many beats it has skipped already. He only knows that, eventually, the Rogue stops trying to hide their face and looks back at Finan. Reluctantly. Slowly. Timid. Finan's heart beats fast. It thunders like it has never beaten before, not even once in his entire lifetime. Finan cannot ever recall feeling so affected by the vision of anybody else.

“Tell us your name, Brave One.” The Rogue croons to him. A slight echo, a pleasent accent. Their voice is deep, masculine, but Finan has received hits for assuming these things before. He’d rather wait than assume. He does not want to wound.

Finan tries to answer, but his throat is too destroyed by Saxon blades. He cannot even choke anymore. He hopes he doesn't look too gruesome. He doesn't want to scare the Warrior nor the Rogue away. They're gentle. Luminous. A study in contrasts. Enticing. Thankfully, the Warrior sees his struggle and smiles again, one hand reaching out to caress Finan's short hair.

“His name is the Guardian, and he is ours like we are his.”

Finan - no, _the Guardian_ , smiles, his soul bursting aflame and instantly recognising these two souls calling him back home. When he rises from the ground, surrounded by shimmering glimmers, veiled in stardust, he has stopped bleeding, and his armour complements the Warrior’s and the Rogue’s.

Finally, he belongs.


End file.
